Allen slowly opened his palm, revealing a stone about the size of a baby's fist.
The stone was an irregular ellipsoid, grayish-white all over, pitted and uneven, with many pale green specks.
It looked no different from the gneiss one could find anywhere along the roads of the Northern Continent.
This type of gneiss, being common and dense, was often used by fishermen as sink stones for their nets.
Ordinary was too generous a word to describe the rock in Allen's hand—yet this was the Rebirth Soul of Gwendolyn, Maiden of Spring.
"The Rebirth… Soul of Gwendolyn, Maiden of Spring?"
Melitele fixed Her gaze on Allen's palm.
At first Her expression was blank, as though She knew nothing of such a spirit. But then She tilted Her head, as if listening to something from the void. After a brief look of surprise at Allen, Her eyes returned to the seemingly ordinary stone.
The fragrance of ripe wheat fields spread through the air.
The motherly figure gently caressed Her swollen belly, but did not reach for the stone. She remained silent for a long time.
How to deal with Gwendolyn, Maiden of Spring—even for Her, it was a matter requiring careful thought.
"I have never heard of a Rebirth Soul. That must be an ancient god's method of avoiding calamity."
"If it were a hundred years ago, I would have destroyed it outright with divine power."
"But now…"
The mother shook Her fuller cheeks, rounder from pregnancy.
"The Aen Seidhe are barely surviving, destined to step by step meet extinction. They can no longer stand as an obstacle to humanity's survival. Even with another god, the end cannot be changed."
"So…"
She paused, then lifted Her gaze toward Allen.
"What do you think, Child of Miracles? How do you intend to handle it?"
"What if I wanted to resurrect Gwendolyn, Maiden of Spring?" Allen tested cautiously. "Since the Aen Seidhe are no longer a threat, perhaps the knowledge held by an ancient god could be important to us—something we could use against the White Frost."
"You may," the mother nodded indifferently.
"Then… can You resurrect Her now?"
The mother slowly shook Her head.
"Though I do not know how Gwendolyn escaped the war and avoided complete demise, a god can never heal another god."
A god cannot heal another god… Allen was momentarily stunned.
That wasn't what he had imagined.
In the creation myths of his past life, each pantheon had at least one, often several, deities who could heal the wounds and cure the ailments of their own kind.
"Because we do not have human flesh, only divine souls akin to spirit," the mother continued without pause. "The substance that fills a god's soul is not the same as the spirit-essence that forms a mortal's soul. It is something entirely different…"
Seeing Allen's increasingly bewildered expression, Melitele adjusted Her words: "You may think of it this way—what composes a natural god is neither physical flesh nor intangible spirit, but the faith of the wise, the belief of all living beings."
"That is the true essence by which a natural deity becomes divine."
"Mortal folk call it faith—a spiritual power condensed and transformed by priesthood."
"When a god is wounded, in essence it means faith has suddenly drained away, vanished."
"And the faith that composes one god differs by priesthood, and cannot be shared."
"The faith that composes Me, and the faith that composes Freyja—even if both contain aspects of fertility, love, and harvest—are still entirely different things. They cannot be exchanged, and naturally cannot heal each other."
"Then what about divine spells…" Allen ventured to ask.
"Divine spells are the means by which a god exerts influence on the world through believers and sacred artifacts," the motherly figure answered patiently. "In essence, it is divine power driving the elements of the air, much like how sorcerers use spirit and mana to control the elements—or directly using divine power to alter reality."
"But divine power itself is still condensed spiritual force, energy that has been profoundly altered by the god's priesthood. At its core, it is still faith."
Allen began to understand.
Two different gods were essentially like two machines running on different fuels. For instance, one powered by coal steam, the other by diesel.
Whether it was injury or decline, both came down to their fuel being depleted.
Though coal and diesel were both, in essence, fossil fuels derived from solar energy (faith), they manifested in different forms.
A machine built for gasoline naturally could not run on coal; and if coal were put into a gasoline machine, it might even explode.
As for divine spells, they could be thought of as the various works performed by steam engines or diesel engines.
But no matter what form of work they produced, it was all merely energy converted from heat—"lower-level" or simply different manifestations of energy.
The analogy might not have been perfect, but that was roughly the idea.
"Then how do I resurrect Gwendolyn, Maiden of Spring?" Allen asked earnestly.
"Why would a mere human be the one to resurrect Her?" the crone asked in puzzlement. "Doesn't Gwendolyn have priests?"
Allen was silent for a few seconds. "Her priests were killed. I only came by this Rebirth Soul by accident."
The crone nodded, asking no further.
"First, you will need to find Her a priest, and gather at least a hundred true believers—sincere in their faith. Then…" Melitele, now in the form of a crone, pointed Her bony finger toward the stone in his palm, Her voice raspy. "At the prayer-rite of the Maiden of Spring, you must awaken Her."
Allen's scalp prickled as he listened. A priest, and a hundred believers.
Perhaps he could ask Ida Emean to think of a way regarding the priest, but a hundred faithful…
The believers Melitele spoke of could not just be anyone pulled at random; they had to truly believe…
How long would that take?!
And involving Ida Emean was one thing, but if she had to search for a hundred believers among the free elves, matters would become far more complicated.
At that point, the question of who would hold dominion over Gwendolyn, Maiden of Spring, might become the greater issue.
Allen could not help but furrow his brow. But it was impossible not to resurrect Gwendolyn.
To hold sway over a deity was already an unimaginably tempting prospect—it was akin to directly grasping a path to transcendence.
And judging from Gwendolyn's status among the Aen Seidhe, second only to the Sun and Moon "chief deities," She was at least a "greater god."
Given the Aen Seidhe's flourishing in ages past, Gwendolyn may well have been stronger than Melitele is now.
What's more…
Gwendolyn was one of the oldest deities of the Northern Continent, possessor of countless secrets—especially those concerning the Wild Hunt and the White Frost.
Secrets that, for Allen—destined to face both the Hunt and the Frost—were of unparalleled importance.
"As for how to awaken Her…" the crone's voice paused before continuing. "The Maiden of Spring is a goddess of nature. At the very least, a druid who has walked far enough along the Path of Nature must preside over the ritual…"
Druid… Allen caught the key point.
His brow furrowed as he suddenly recalled the final meMoreau of Tomas Moreau.
Lydia—Jerome's mother—the elf who wore a silver ornament upon her chest, surrounded by a forest overflowing with the aura of nature.
"When Tomas Moreau found Lydia, was she preparing for the revival of Gwendolyn, the Maiden of Spring?"
"Or perhaps by then she was already close to completing it, which was why she had no time to care for her child, Jerome Moreau…"
Allen pondered silently.
If that were true, then the followers of Gwendolyn, the Maiden of Spring, were not starting from nothing, forced to build everything from the ground up. They might only need to recognize him.
That lowered the difficulty considerably.
Then the only question was—where was that forest? Which circle of Druids was it?
"However…" the Crone's golden eyes, brimming with wisdom, narrowed as she gazed at Allen. "Perhaps you could try it yourself…"
Allen blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts. "Try what?"
"Try being the druid who conducts the ritual," the Crone said. "It would benefit you greatly."
"But I…" Allen's words faltered as he recalled entering that woodland after using the essence of the Leshen.
"It seems you already know what must be done," the Crone nodded slightly. "Do you have any other questions?"
Allen thought for a moment, then shook his head.
The Conjunction of the Spheres, the Wild Hunt, the White Frost, Gwendolyn the Maiden of Spring, the essence of divinity…
Of course, there were endless questions to ask, but most were trivial, meaningless to raise now. Others—such as the revival of the Maiden of Spring—could only be answered after reaching the next stage.
Moreover, the hidden ritual of Melitele, the lines of the ritual circle, had nearly all faded, leaving only a faint trace—too little to expand upon with more questions.
Yet for some reason, after shaking his head, he felt as though he had forgotten something very important.
Until—
"Wait!"
Just before the Crone's right foot stepped into the ritual circle, Allen called out to her again.
"Goddess, regarding the fall of the Aen Seidhe's deity—if there seem to be contradictions, do not dwell on it," he said solemnly.
The Crone was silent for several seconds, then stepped into the ritual circle.
In that instant—
The golden radiance that had illuminated Old Speartip's cavern like the light of a divine kingdom suddenly vanished.
"I understand, my holy son."
The voice of a loving mother, elongated in its cadence, faded away, and the cavern returned to darkness.
-----------------------------------
In truth, it wasn't that Allen had forgotten—he just wasn't sure if he should say it aloud.
After all, humans always had this habit: the more one was told to forget something, the harder it became to truly forget.
The more people were told not to dwell on something, the more they would turn it over and over in their minds.
What if Melitele had already been smoothly diverted from the topic, but with one reminder, the thought came back?
What then?
Would it not be that tomorrow Melitele would again cut off her oracles, the day after an eclipse, and the day after that Arch-Priestess Ianna would suddenly perish…
But thinking carefully—
Melitele was a goddess, not a human. As She herself had said, in essence She was without human emotions.
If he didn't solemnly remind Her now, then when Melitele unconsciously recalled it within Her divine realm, that would be when a true disaster occurred.
"Damn it!"
Allen, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, suddenly froze.
"I forgot to ask Goddess Melitele for the Blessing of Harvest!!!"
He slapped his forehead, filled with regret.
All this time he had been hesitating whether to remind Goddess Melitele, and in the end, he had forgotten the most important matter.
"Fortunately, I prepared two of Melitele's Hidden Rituals…"
From his pouch, Allen drew out chalk, sulfur, enchanted dust, and a vial of quicksilver solution, walking toward the ritual circle that had already gone "dark."
"The previous Hidden Ritual of Melitele was consumed by the Goddess's descent."
"To avoid drawing the Wild Hunt's attention, to fulfill the task entrusted by the Goddess regarding the Conjunction of the Spheres, setting it up again is only natural…"
"It's just… I wonder if the Goddess will descend again this time… hmm?"
"What is this?"
Allen, speaking to himself as he lit the torch by the ritual circle, suddenly halted mid-sentence.
He bent down, picking up a wooden plaque from the center of the circle that represented the Maiden, one of the three circles of Melitele's Hidden Ritual.
"Vmmm~"
The wolf medallion gave a faint hum.
The plaque was made of ordinary oak, carved with Melitele's sacred image.
But strangely, it was not the usual temple talisman of the Triple Aspect—Maiden, Mother, and Crone. Instead, it showed only a carefree maiden, long hair falling over her shoulders, a wreath of tulips crowning her head.
Wiping away the dust, Allen saw divine power surge through the wood grain, even releasing a faint fragrance of tulips mingled with grass and wheat.
With anticipation, Allen willed it to activate.
[Name: The Maiden's Promise (Old Rule)]
[Type: Ritual Item]
[Function: By holding the talisman and chanting "Praise be to the Mother of All, Goddess of Fertility, Harvest, and Birth, the eternal Maiden, Mother, and Crone…" one may invoke a single use of the Blessing of Harvest (Greater).]
[Note: Why does one talisman have two names? Because the name in parentheses was deliberately altered by an existence whose true name cannot be spoken.]
"Blessing of Harvest (Greater)?"
"So it's emphasized like this… does that mean the previous Blessings of Harvest were just Lesser or Moderate?"
"How much gold could this open up?!"
"An unspeakable true name?"
"Didn't it literally spell out the prayer to that 'existence'? Could there be a more precise way to pinpoint it?"
"And then 'The Maiden's Promise'—it even openly states which Aspect in the title. What is there left to conceal?"
Allen couldn't help but smile wryly at the note.
The Witcher's Journal, of course, gave no reply to his mutterings—silent as always.
Many times, the Journal's emotionally charged notes left Allen with a sense of dissonance.
It never spoke to him, always like a dead object. Yet the playful remarks in its annotations hinted at an abundance of feeling, like a wizened old man—knowledgeable, but mischievous and irreverent.
Even this talisman's note gave him a strong sense of déjà vu.
As though the Journal had been forced by the "Maiden" to change its name in embarrassment, and once she was gone, it muttered complaints behind her back.
So… had Melitele really communicated with the Journal before?
And besides—
With Melitele being so attentive, with such a vivid presence—could She truly be without human emotions?
"Forget it, no use worrying about it."
Unable to find an answer, nor a way to ask, Allen let out a quiet sigh.
His gaze fell upon the talisman panel of The Maiden's Promise (Old Rule), onto its function: Blessing of Harvest (Greater).
"Well then, the question is…"
The witcher rubbed the smooth talisman with his right hand.
"Should I proceed with the Conjunction of the Spheres first?"
"Or should I finally open those nearly a hundred treasure chests that have been sitting dormant in my inventory for months?"
...
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